All Challenges Accepted

I've been avoiding writing in my blog lately. I'm only two posts deep, and it's not to say that I'm already tiring of blogging - because I am in fact feeling injected with a new-found passion for exploiting the thoughts that do the very same to my brain. However, I'm finding it difficult to fulfill the purpose of initially starting my blog (See post #1), because I am not doing it anonymously. I can't write how I really feel, because I've opened the doors to my closest friends, family, and any future contact of any relation. I can express to an extent, but writing in a blog has offered an unexpected challenge to me: Fear nothing. Fear not that brothers and sisters will perhaps indulge in the unraveling of my conscious, or that they may challenge my acumen and lucidity of wellness. What it really boils down to, is fear not being myself.

Some fears are petty. Take my fear of not perfecting a post as if it were a college essay - I'm so eager to share what's on my mind that I worry if I don't craft it with such precision, these thoughts will be lost in translation to my readers. And readers - who actually cares what I have to say? The thing is, it wasn't until my good friend and fellow blogger Alyssa pointed something out to me, that I realized I might not give as many craps as to who really ingests my words - I'm doing this for me. To document what I wish I had always documented. For the countless nights rolling around trying to grasp the derivatives of worries and postulations that succumb me into a limbo, a limbo of careless insomnia that I have somehow learned to love and loathe instantaneously together. This being said, I'm going to start working on caring less and just spilling it out. I will let the different colored paints soak into whatever crevices they so desire.

Besides fear, it is a surfeit of worries that have me so busy I have not been able to even fathom another late-night purging of thoughts lately. Yes, the sources are steadfast - those of school, extracurricular responsibilities, and relationships. I worry every ounce of effort I exert into my studies, that it will not pay off into acceptance to the school I so desire to be a part of; I worry I will not avenge the leader that exists within and have always been able to rely on before; that my current residence is really a home; and that my inability to stay transfixed on any one suitor will result in a future of loneliness. The latter of those four is really what I am most confused about (because worrying about the future is not confusing, just unknown).

I was told the other night: "Lisa Evanson, I am going to steal your heart," and I was instantly intrigued. Simultaneously, I found myself envisioning my oh-so-reliable course of concurrence--lost interest at the point of some undefined variable that masks my love life. I've always wanted what I think I can't have, and never want what wants me. Perhaps this is also why I've had a peaked interest in someone who I feel I really can't read. It's quite frustrating and exciting. All the same, I feel like a cheater... That anyone who dares try to woo me, is really playing a game that inevitably results in their heart's demise. God, how arrogant I sound, when really what I mean to say is... I'm praying. I'm praying to stumble into something unplanned and unsought-out. Someone to enjoy the little things with and feel like happiness is so effortless. For a best friend who just so happens to be more than a best friend.

Ew, I can't believe I just wrote that. I hope no one reads that but I'm going to post this anyways because I promised myself to be more carefree with putting myself out there. I also promised myself not to edit or perfect any more posts, so I'm going to click "Publish" and say "So be it" even though I'm pretty sure I left this post off on a tangent. Then I'm going to eat some pretzels, jump in the shower, and try not to feel so weird about having written when the sun is fully up - this feels just as weird as it does to be fully rested, awake in the morning after a night's sleep, etc... all foreign feelings.

Moral of the story is: all challenges accepted.

Welp, bye!

Kill with Kindness, Kill with Confidence

“You have eyes that smile, did you know that?”

Her eyes were gleefully jumping back and forth between mine, as if snapping a photo with each leap to cherish in her memory.

The thing was, my smile was mirroring a duplicate reflection of love.

“Uhh, umm… Ha.”

I suck at taking compliments. I always feel like I have to give one in my immediate response, when really I’ve learned it’s best to just thank them kindly.

But, my words were translated oh so perfectly. Somehow, I knew she would do just so because she had that aura that shows through her smile and puts you at ease. This being said, I met her a mere sixty seconds prior to her compliment.

I knew exactly what she meant, but when people say something that takes me aback, I insist on asking them to explain, elaborate—I want to inquire.

She translated the expression on my face and responded, “Your eyes. They smile when your mouth does, but if you were to cover up your mouth, you could still tell you’re smiling.”

I digested this observation and decided it was the most magnificent compliment I had ever received.

Her eyes crinkled, each crow mark like the lines in a tree stump representing beautiful growth. Thin face, medium pigment, pixie-cut granola-colored hair. She was at least in her forties, possibly fifties. We were merely standing in the garage of a graduation party with my mom standing to my right, just leaving and ready to walk to our car. The lady had stopped us because she recognized my mom, but after a few sentences she turned her attention to me and granted me the fondest moment that lies with all memories incurred from fleeting moments spent with delightful strangers. I’ve had crazy, epic moments spent with strangers, but this remains my favorite because I sincerely felt like this woman encompassed love in her existence.

Before heading out, she said one last thing that concealed the doubts that were cautiously tiptoeing inside my head:

“It’s a good thing.”

            Too much precious time has been wasted in my life from flustering over comments that rude people make, most specifically the ones they say about me. It’s one thing for someone to say “You’re too loud,” which is a hit at my personality, but it’s another to call out my physical features—any girl’s one true weakness, if any. Some of these called-out features have blossomed into trademarks. Others, into constant self-doubts that have a way of hangin’ around like hooligans in an alleyway. But there's a lesson to be learned.

            In third grade while sitting in gym glass, the girl in front of me turned around, looked at my feet, and proceeded to put her hands on either end of my right foot as if tediously measuring it. She then lifted her hands up all the while shrinking the “measurement”, the same way people tend to do when comparing heights when their hand doesn’t go straight—and yelled to the whole class: “Oh my God! Her feet are so SMALL!”

            You’d think she grew up with a family of clowns.

            The joke is now on everyone in elementary school and middle school who commented on my small feet (which are only a 5½ at smallest) because let’s be honest, I rather have cute little feet than having to have custom-made shoes because my feet are so big—i.e. Paris Hilton. Or just in general, I rather have trouble finding a size 6 than being embarrassed of buying a size 11. For those of my sistas who do have bigger tootsies, I would never be so cheeky as to comment or ridicule them for such a trait. Not because I’m just that well-mannered, but because I don’t give a flying rat’s ass.

            For lack of better words: Embrace that shit. Flaunt it. If you’re a size 11 confident puta and the resurrected Shang Dynasty came charging at you to bind your feet, wave that middle finger like you’re excited to see them. (Unfamiliar with foot binding? Click here.)

            Example numero dos, condensed:

“Your bottom lip is too big, it’s weird,” – Every peer in my life pre-puberty.

“Your lips are amazing” – Guys, post-puberty.

This last one is for my friend Amanda and Miss Anonymous who once told me I had a weird butt and that I have no butt, respectively: Guys like it. Trust me. They are actually quite vocal about it. It’s tight and firm. Most of all, I like it.

Sorry, but I’ve always wanted to get that off my chest.

You see where I’m getting at? Confidence. You must have it. Even if it’s fake confidence, if you’re putting on a glorious act, it will scare off all the rude witches that try and bring you down, most commonly a direct result of their own insecurity. My most crucial advice is to never stoop to their level. Kill them with kindness—it scares them. It makes them think. It gives them a chance to grow, and a chance to save themselves.

My opening story is just to show that for every jackass running their ignorant mouth, there will be an angel to remind you of the little things that make you, you. So maybe my eyes disappear once my weird bottom lip goes all crescent moon crazy, but I love that about me and that someone else loves it too, even if it’s just one other person. Plus, I’d rather have that than apathetic eyes and a smile that screams “I’m unnatural.” I not only encourage, I demand you to do deliver with the same attitude. Strut those cankles, wave those double-jointed elbows, and use those beautiful lips, however kissable or straight-edged, to make a promise to yourself that a sweet and fluffy bunny-rabbit once said:

“If you can't say something nice... don't say nothing at all.”

Word.

Here are some of my favorite pictures that not only show my smiling eyes that the woman referred to, but those around me seem to also have eyes that smile... oh and one picture of my proud lil' booty (the exact picture that evoked a girl to tell me I had none):

My roommate freshman year who has her own fashion blog! http://fashionloveotherdrugs.blogspot.com/

Miss Rachel, how I adore her so. 

Meet my non-biological mother and father / best friends

It was love at first site... Literally, this pic is the first time we met.

Proud of this booty. Thank you high school cheerleading.

(One of my most epic dance moments came from dancing to Ms. New Booty)

Relay For Life. I can honestly saw I love this picture.

Shyla never ceased to make me smile. Typically, laugh so hard I turned to jello on the sidelines and had to run to the nearest Port-A-Potty.

Throwback! The era of the braces. Summer bonfire with my girl Breann.

The one and only, "Daddy-O."

See where I get the eyes from?

Jay. Jay Jay Jay makes me smile, that's for sure.

Straight up cheezin'. (Aren't guy bear hugs the best?)

This kid is somethin else.

Good ole days working at 50's Grill, the one and only. Nothing makes me happier than a homemade malt! (Banana flavored, of course.)

Judy, who self-labeled herself my "favorite Asian." How I miss her!

Self-Portrait. 

Photo Cred to Ellie, one of my three dorm roommates from freshman year.